No Strings
by ninamonkey
Summary: What if there was another, darker reason for the diary quest? (Occurs between X-Men #109 and X-Treme X-Men #1)


_What if there was another, darker reason for the diary quest? (Occurs between X-Men #109 and X-Treme X-Men #1)_

No Strings Attached 

They had been talking in circles all morning. He had been smug and arrogant, she imperious and cold. The game had begun, and on the outside, neither really cared. Now it was simply a question of who would leave whom first with the least hurts and the most dignity.  
  
_You didn't ask me..._  
  
_Love will find a way..._  
  
The veiled messages between the phrases were sprinkled with uglier truths than either wanted to admit. She was leaving, and she didn't want him to come along. Why, because they needed a spy at the mansion? Naw. That wasn't it. They both knew why.  
  
She had fallen for him, and he was playing games with her heart.  
  
"'Ro." He stared at his hands, for once unable to give it to her straight, unable to wrestle with feelings that hurt him as much as they hurt her. "You don't have to leave. You don't--"  
  
"Yes, I do," she said softly. She even had a smile for him, but it was rather chilly. "You said it yourself, did you not? What were your exact words--oh, yes, I remember. 'I'm not sure.'"  
  
Logan winced a little, remembering the earlier conversation. Ororo rarely got snappish or ugly but she was furious, and she had every right to be. He was surprised that she controlled the weather as well as she did. "I said I wasn't sure about your little adventure. Didn't think it was too real."  
  
"Because you think I am running from 'us'."  
  
"Yeah," he admitted. "An' yer draggin' people along with you for the ride. I know it's the real reason you're up an' leavin', but I'm usually the one doin' that shit."  
  
She was quiet and a small breeze picked up outside her attic window. She turned from him and stared into the attic skylight, full of regal importance and more than a little rage. He also smelled other things in there, things like sorrow. Loneliness. Unshed tears. Maybe even freedom.  
  
"Tell me, Logan," she said softly. "Did you ever love me, or was I simply Jean's substitute?"  
  
He grunted. "Yer aimin' below the belt, 'Ro."  
  
Her jaw tightened but she didn't answer. Not directly, anyway. The breeze outside suddenly picked up and slapped a branch against the windowpane. After a pause she nodded.  
  
"You didn't answer my question. So I have my answer."  
  
"No, you don't," Logan muttered. He chanced it, and came closer to her side. She stiffened, but he knew she longed for his touch like nothing else. He wrapped his hand around her waist. "I _do_ love you, 'Ro."  
  
She leaned her head against his cheek and the scent of unshed tears intensified. "But not in the way I want you to. You know I want to be more than your sexual partner. Much more."  
  
"I know, darlin'," he whispered. "Maybe when I grow up some..."  
  
She sniffed and shook her head, and a small wave of disgust hit his nostrils.  
  
Guess he deserved that.  
  
Man, he was sorry--really sorry it didn't work out earlier. And he'd tried, but always at the wrong time. When he wanted to go ahead and go deeper, she'd already be in a relationship. When he finally got his act together, something'd snap, and he'd pine over Red. Last time he pulled this crap she ran off to Wakanda to try and rekindle something with the damn king. But T'Challa, like Jean, was unobtainable--a dream to pass the time. It wouldn't work for her anymore than he and Jean would. So when he asked, she came back home. For him.  
  
Then, like usual, he fucked it up.  
  
Last week, Emma Frost had played hostess to the first Christmas party of the season. It was more like a wake. No one had felt much like celebrating because of Moira's death, but they had decided to put on a good show. Cable, Irish, and the Cajun ignored the good spirits and just got hammered, and the girls weren't in much better shape. Even Ororo had drunk a few more glasses of wine than her customary two.  
  
"You okay, darlin'?"  
  
Ororo swallowed the rest of the wine in her glass and twirled the bottom somberly. She paused, knowing full well that she couldn't lie to him, but she didn't really want to tell the truth.  
  
"Not really."  
  
They were in the dark and secluded from the party next door, sitting side by side on a loveseat that Emma must've reserved for bigger guests, like Beast, or Bishop. The huge, gaping dent in the center created more distance between them than he would've liked.  
  
Ororo was a little tipsy, but she was probably the second most lucid one at the party without counting him. She'd asked him to the quiet corner to talk but she had yet to say anything.  
  
He sighed and lightly kissed her bare shoulder. "'Ro, I wanted you back here. I don't think you're right for T'Challa."  
  
_Am I right for you?_ She could have asked. It hung, unspoken, between them, but she didn't say it. She could've said a whole slew of swear words or thrown shit at him, or thrown Jean back in his face, but she didn't. She calmly weaved her fingers and sat back in the couch, perfectly calm and composed. The perfect Ice Goddess.  
  
"No, I'm not. He has his duties, and I have mine. It wouldn't have worked out. He must rule Wakanda, and I cannot leave the X-Men. So, yes, you're right, Logan. So?"  
  
He shrugged. "I'm sorry. I know how it feels."  
  
"I know," she whispered. She glanced at the dining room table, contemplating another glass of wine, and changed her mind. "So where does this leave us, then? Two lonely soldiers, waiting for...what? A prince or princess on a white horse?"  
  
He chuckled. "You're a little drunk."  
  
"Not that drunk, Logan."  
  
"Yeah. I know...But, c'mon, d'you really want an answer to that?"  
  
Her eyes snapped up now and he sensed a new emotion mixed with the anger. He wasn't sure how to read it, because she rarely radiated it. "I do."  
  
Drunk or not, he knew that serious tone well. The emotion finally clicked. "You wanna go public with us, don't ya?"  
  
She glanced away and played with the stem of her glass. "I wouldn't mind it. Are we, or aren't we, Logan? What exactly do we have? It's deeper than friendship. We're lovers already. Is it so difficult to take the extra step?"  
  
He didn't answer immediately, and she took his hesitation the wrong way. She got up from the couch and refilled her wine glass across the room. Next door, Betsy and Rogue were screeching at the top of their lungs at some party game, and Warren was stumbling around in a half-sloppy daze. Logan didn't even see Remy, Nate, or Sean anymore. He figured the trio was either out cold or as bad off as Wings. Damn, they were a sorry bunch. They all deserved a Sentinel attack right now, to take 'em down a peg and to get their self-pitying asses back to work.  
  
He pursed his lips and went over to Ororo. "Okay," he said.  
  
She put her glass back down and eyed him narrowly. "'Okay' what?"  
  
Logan grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. "Yer gonna make me do this the hard way, huh?"  
  
"There is no hard way, Logan," she said softly, turning from him. He liked how her hair came away from her scarf and tumbled down her back. "You either want to, or you don't."  
  
"I want to," he said, running his fingers through her hair. He genuinely meant it.  
  
She smiled now. The first genuine smile he'd seen all night. "Good."  
  
"_There_ you two are," a voice squealed. Logan winced at Emma's girly squawk. The woman was tanked. "C'mon, it's picture time."  
  
Ororo actually laughed at the dread on his face. "She won't leave us alone unless we do this, you know."  
  
"I know," he growled.  
  
"Oh, you'll _love_ it," Emma said, grabbing his hand. She dragged him into the sitting room, where the rest of them were, threw him into the biggest chair, and demanded that Betsy, Rogue, and Ororo hang off him like he was some kind of sugar daddy.  
  
"Ooh, perfect shot. Ororo, sweets, get a little closer, won't you?"  
  
Ororo wrapped her arm around his neck, filling his nostrils with her delicate--and very public--scent. His lips turned in a slight frown. Did he really want to do this public thing? Shit. What the hell was he thinking? She'd be in danger, all the time. Is that what he wanted?  
  
"_That's_ it! Ooh, I'll have enough to blackmail the lot of you. How delicious. Logan...Logan, would it break your face if you gave me just one teensy smile?"  
  
A growl rumbled deep in his chest and she rolled her eyes. "Never mind. Say 'cheese,' darlings."  
  
_Snap._  
  
They laughed and giggled at the Polaroid and at his stern face, but the picture haunted him for days. He wasn't sure what to do, now. Dammit. Getting into a serious relationship meant endangering someone else's life, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to do that anymore.  
  
After the party they went back to the mansion and made love--one of their best, he thought, with a grin. While she slept, he went for a smoke off the back porch and saw a faint glow over by the boathouse. He didn't blame Jeannie for wandering around like a lost calf during the holidays. Her memories of Scott were still fresh, and he didn't blame her for not feeling very festive. And she was there when Moira died. Jean's feelings--and his--made his mind wander.  
  
He had half a shot, now.  
  
You can't do this to 'Ro, he warned himself. He snuffed his cigar and watched the boathouse for a while, and froze on the back porch until Jean's bedroom light went out. He shook off his animalistic side and stuffed down the erotic thoughts. Truth was, the Polaroid had scared him, and made him think he wasn't as free as he thought. Made him wonder about shit. That was his problem. He thought too much.  
  
So after the smoke on the porch he took too much time mulling over his thoughts, and started pulling away. Again. When Ororo confronted him about it, he used his sure-fire "out" clause. Told her he wasn't sure how he felt about them being together anymore. That he still had feelings for Jean he needed to sort out.  
  
How convenient that the diary shit hit the fan soon after that.  
  
He had to tell 'Ro the truth. He couldn't lie to her, never could. They'd slept together for years--in fact, he thought with a sad smirk, the games people saw in the daytime were nothing compared to the games they played in private. But they'd promised each other in the beginning, "No Strings Attached," and he told her that's how he felt. The sex worked to quell the loneliness inside both their hearts for a while, anyway.  
  
Thunder rattled the walls of the attic and brought his mind back. To now. To her leaving him.  
  
"I cannot stay with my heart twisted like this," she whispered, pushing him away. "I have been there, and I choose not to return. And I can't stay and...and feel my heart dying a second time. I can't watch you drive another wedge between Jean and Scott."  
  
He made an ugly noise. "That ain't fair. I wouldn't--"  
  
She held up a hand. "You've chosen, Logan, and I must respect that. I shouldn't continue to wait for you or for anyone else. It's foolish of me."  
  
The weather went crazy right then, and he was surprised that it had taken so long. "'Ro, I'm sorry. I--"  
  
"Go," she said. She spun from him imperiously and stared at the skylight, but he could tell tears were falling now. "Please spare me your pity."  
  
_It's not pity,_ he wanted to yell. _I do love you, that way. I love you more than Panther ever could. We can work this out. I can change. We can change. Don't shut me out of your life._ His thoughts shocked him. Maybe he did feel that way, or maybe he was just too afraid to lose another friend and his infantile reflex of clinging to forbidden fruit finally kicked in. It was too late, though. He wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn't. Not only had he just ruined their semi-comatose love life, but he also ruined their friendship.  
  
_Good one, Logan._  
  
He nodded, turned on his heel, and left her in her room. Alone. He didn't even have the guts to look back.  
  
* * *  
  
At first light, they were already gone. Gone, packed...erased from existence. No note, no good-bye call, and no kiss. He'd miss her kisses, he thought sullenly. He hadn't slept much that night, but he must've slept long enough to miss their exit. Figures. Always a day late and a dollar short.  
  
_You let the best thing in your life walk out that door. Happy?  
  
Ecstatic._  
  
It was about then that he felt his heart turn. He felt like some damn marionette whose wires were suddenly snipped, whose role in life was suddenly missing. Hell, he didn't need it. Love? It was all just sex between the sheets. Just somethin' to pass the time 'til the next one came around. He buried his heart, and willed it to stay buried. 'Roro was gone, and life was unfair. Learn to deal, Logan.  
  
But deep inside, hidden under his apathy and bitterness, he dreamt about her return. Wondering...hoping that she still loved him as deeply as he still loved her.  
  
--Fin.--  



End file.
